


Wet

by ScribeFigaro



Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Oral Sex, Precious Bodily Fluids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 04:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5361821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribeFigaro/pseuds/ScribeFigaro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sango takes charge.  AKA: Collect a large number of kinks from mirsan fandom.  Combine into bowl.  Serve.  A/N: I am a bad person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wet

_I kiss you when you lick your lips._  
_You like it wet and so do I._  
_No, you never waste a drip._  
_I wonder how it feels sometimes._  
_Must be good to you._  
_-Beyonce  
_

_Nobody wants to be wet._  
_Though sweet soul I do secrete,_  
_Can’t make damp fingers snap to the beat._  
_\- Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog: Commentary: The Musical!_

With the children older, the twins able to help somewhat around the house and their youngest long-since weaned, it became easier for Miroku to tend to his obligations at his family temple, occasionally going there for a day or two to assist the aging Mushin with repairs or financial matters. The man still seemed quite happy as the caretaker of the small temple, but his eyesight was becoming too poor to manage the books, and the thought of him repairing the five-meter-tall roof of the main hall was simply frightening.

Sango had intended to merely meet her husband on the road as he returned, but she ended up walking the entire distance without seeing him. He had clearly been delayed some time.

She met Mushin on the steps of the great hall, and exchanged pleasantries. His advanced age had surprisingly little effect on his drinking, and he was in good spirits as usual. They discussed her children, her village, and even though they were probably all the same stories that Miroku had told him two days previous when he arrived here, he seemed not to mind hearing them twice. Ten minutes or so of conversation seemed to be enough for him, and he thanked her for her company. The old man stretched out on the portico, pillowing his head in his hands, and he was fully asleep by the time Sango stood, brushed off her skirts, and proceeded to the lecture hall where Miroku was finishing up his work.

Some minutes later she found him there. He sat cross-legged before a low desk, a few piles of books and manuscripts scattered around him. He was just finishing writing a line in a ledger when he looked up and noticed her presence.

“Ah, Sango,” he said. “I've been delayed; I apologize. The tax records were in disarray. This shouldn't take much longer.”

She crossed the room, and leaning over, kissed him on the lips.

“I understand. Please, continue. I'll just wait until you've finished.”

He nodded. Setting the brush aside, he traced fingers along the lines of scribbled figures, stopping every few seconds to compare whatever he saw with the contents of one of the other books laid out before him.

“Mushin purchased some timber late last year, but he wrote down different prices for it in different books, so I'm having trouble tracking down which one is accurate.”

“That sounds frustrating,” she said.

“Indeed. There are a few other errors here and there, which I'm correcting as I find them, but I think most of the cash discrepancy comes from that timber.”

“The stack of cedar out near the main gate?”

“Yes, exactly. The _sanmon_ needs to be repaired once the weather gets a bit better.” He smiled. “Amusingly, Mushin's alcohol is very well budgeted. He can keep his figures well enough when it's something very important.”

“Ah,” she said.

“In any case, I again apologize, Sango. Let me find a good stopping point, and then I can fix us some tea.”

“Of course.”

She sat beside him, studying his manner as he worked. The way his brow furrowed when he was engrossed in something complicated. The pattern of his breathing, the way he subtly cocked his head as if looking at a row of numbers from a different angle somehow made them add up better.

How is it that these quirks of her husband at both annoyed her and pleased her in such equal measure? Perhaps it came from knowing the man so well, of being amused at how easily she can predict his actions, his emotions. Perhaps it was the youthful pleasure of knowing secrets no one else knew.

Indeed, secrets had become more and more necessary these days, their romance now living in the meandering path laid out by their growing family, quick trysts held in the few moments their children were elsewhere.

Three children now, and certain to be more. They had been a little more careful recently, wanting their first children to get older and more independent before they made a firm decision on more. Nothing guaranteed, of course; “safe days” were always a gamble.

Years married and still, she thought, it was too dangerous for her to be alone with him, lest she succumb to strange desires that surely came from something outside her. She grew to understand that the very presence of Miroku lit a fire within her, one that seemed to smolder most days of their shared life. But the thought of pregnancy led to the thought of impregnation, and that thought was a bellows upon that fire. A casual meeting here suddenly found her stoking white-hot coals of desire. Indeed, they were alone, and would remain so for most of the afternoon. Indeed, Mushin-sama would sleep until dinner, and their children and friends were miles away.

She padded to the doorway, and gently slid the partition closed, and hooked the clasp.

“Sango?”

A single glance at her flushed face was surely enough for him to understand her request.

“Tell me,” she said. “Have you reached a good stopping point yet?”

“I could be persuaded to take an early break, yes.”

“I wonder then, what could persuade you, _Houshi-sama_?”

Barefoot, she stepped before the desk, and placed her hands on her hips. He studied her with her eyes, but did not stand or reach out for her. With great poise he set the brush aside and clasped his fingers before him. He did his best to hide the perverted smile behind his professional demeanor, but he did not hide it well enough, not from her.

 _I wonder_ , she thought.

She reached behind her back, finding the cords of her green _mobakama_ apron, and slowly drew her arms to her sides, dissolving the knot.

His eyes widened, and her skin became hot under his gaze.

_Yes, I think this will be quite effective. For both of us, I think._

She leisurely loosened the cords around her waist, and let the green wraparound apron fall to the floor.

How terrible he was, to make her so wanton. He should be ashamed that he has infected her with this sickness, that the words he had just spoken made her shiver. She was overwhelmed by an irresistible desire to entice him, reveal herself to him. Indeed, the heat in this room was unbearable. She could no longer tolerate the feeling of her clothing upon her skin.

“Sango,” he said. “Would you like some assistance with that?”

Indeed she would. She would very much like his lips upon hers, her hands on her body, pulling at her clothes, finding all the places she liked him to touch. But she found herself in a particularly teasing mood today, and wondered how long he would be able to restrain himself.

“No,” she said. “I think I’d prefer it much more if you sat still for right now. In fact, let’s make it a game.”

“A game?”

“Yes, I think you will like it.”

“And what are the rules to this game, Sango?”

“I’m not sure yet. But I think the first rule is that you are not allowed to touch me.”

“That … that does not sound like a very good game,” he said, dejectedly.

“I disagree. I think you’re going to enjoy it quite a lot, Miroku.”

She undressed slowly, letting him watch the garments slide off her body, her _obi_ and _kosode_ first, forming a pile at her feet. Her arm-guards and shin-guards she kept, and she liked to think the black material on her forearms and calves helped frame her body all the better when she wore them and nothing else.

It was hard to believe after six years of marriage his breath would still catch upon seeing her nudity, that his eyes would drink her in so gluttonously. Surely it helped that she knew how to tease him, how to unfasten her _hadagi_ undershirt so that it formed a vee that extended down to her navel, displaying more and more cleavage until she simply exposed her breasts entirely and shrugged the garment off her shoulders. She knew he liked it when she cupped her bare breasts with her hands. She even knew his favorite way of taking off the white _susoyoke_ underskirt that wrapped around her waist, loosening it and then turning away, bending over and lowering the skirt to slowly expose the curve of her bottom until she dropped it to the ground.

He liked it when she turned to face him with her hands crossed over the juncture of her thighs, as if she still had some embarrassment about him seeing that part of her, and he liked it when she bit her bottom lip and drew her hands away.

He liked it when she showed him everything.

Mirkou reached out to her, and she let him come within a few inches of brushing his fingers against the short, trimmed hair of her pubis, but just before he could make contact she smacked his wrist with the back of her hand.

“No,” she said.

He drew his hand back.

“Ah, right. I’d forgotten.”

Feeling more bold now, she balanced on one leg, and with her bare foot tapped the writing-desk in front of him.

“Clear this off,” she said.

“Yes. One moment, Sango”

With furious action he set aside the texts, secured the ink, dabbed the fresh ledger with blotting paper and placed it in a safe spot.

Her legs were fluid, bringing her to straddle the desk before him, and she lowered herself onto his empty writing desk, legs spread obscenely.

At first she held her hands over her womanhood, again exposing herself slowly, this part of her body now around eye-level to him, and well less than an arm's length from his face. His expression was tense with the determination of not reaching out and touching her. He could be so disciplined when he wanted to be.

She drew her hands away, letting him see her, and then lazily stroked herself, tracing her outer labia with her fingers. There was no hurry.

“Does this interest you, Miroku?”

“Yes, Sango. Immensely. You are indescribably beautiful.”

“Would you be satisfied to sit here, Miroku, and look at me like this?”

“I can’t imagine what force could possibly drag me away.”

“But you want to touch me, don’t you?”

“I have an immense desire to do so, yes.”

“Mmm. As I said, you are not allowed to touch me. On the other hand, there is no reason I cannot touch myself, Miroku. Is that something you would enjoy?”

He licked his lips. “Yes. Please, Sango. Touch yourself for me. Show me what you do when I am not around.”

She needed only one hand, for the moment, and with her free left hand she traced fingers up her stomach, traced the underside of a breast. She lazily teased one nipple with her thumb.

This took his attention away from her right hand only for an instant, for now she was stroking the line where her labia met, the pad of her finger wicking some of the moisture that was just beginning to seep out past her lips. She brushed the length of this wetness, up and down, pausing briefly at the up-stroke, squeezing the nub of flesh between her fingers. Miroku watched her play with her clit, working it to a suitable firmness, pinching the bud with thumb and forefinger. When she began to rub that part of her in tight circles she surprised herself with the sound she made, a wet squishing noise that was not at all discreet. So too she noticed the smell of incense and ink in the room was becoming quickly overwhelmed by the scent of her own sex. She felt wetness on her thighs, and between her buttocks, and realized she might very well be dripping onto the not-inexpensive writing desk beneath her.

These things should perhaps have made her feel silly enough to end this entirely intimate performance, or at very least, encouraged her to move on to something somewhat more appropriate for a married couple such as them. In the extremely unlikely case someone might find them _in flagrante delicto_ , she'd rather not be seen masturbating in front of her husband.

But Miroku's gaze, his breathing, the way he clenched his hands on his knees to prevent himself from reaching out to her – his ceaseless fascination with her body, and especially her womanhood, and most especially the way he was so transfixed on this part of her as she worked herself into an incredible level of arousal – these things made it impossible for her to stop.

Well, no, that is not exactly true, for after a few minutes of this she stilled her hand. Perhaps some other time she will not stop here, and she will let Miroku watch her bring herself to climax. But whether she did this alone or with his audience, such a climax would simply not satisfy the need she felt, and this would be especially frustrating with him ready and willing to meet that need. So in this state, a few minutes shy of a clitoral orgasm that promised to be quite pleasant if she allowed it, she drew her hand away.

“That is how I normally do it, Houshi-sama. Although it is not the only method.”

“And what is the other method, Sango?”

“Well, when the mood strikes me, Houshi-sama, sometimes I prefer to put my finger inside myself. Would you like to see that as well?”

“I would, Sango. I would like to see that very much.”

Again she drew her middle finger down the length of her slit, but this time she slipped her finger between her labia, sliding along the wet furrow.

Up and down she went, several times, and finally she pressed inward, and drove her entire middle finger into her vagina.

She moaned, but _he_ moaned _louder_.

She drew her finger in and out of herself, perhaps for a minute or two, until this too brought her precipitously close to climax. She withdrew her finger, its entire length glistening with her fluids, and held it before her.

“Ah, look what you’ve done, Miroku.”

He leaned forward, ready to take her finger in his mouth, to taste her pleasure, but remarkably, he held himself back. Quickly she realized the potential of this. She knew what he wanted to do to her, and this was the same as what she wanted done to her. But if he held himself back like this … if she had to _order_ him to pleasure her...

“Open your mouth,” she said.

He did so, and remained still, allowing her to brush her wet finger along his lips. His nostrils flared as he took in her scent, and he made soft groan as she placed her finger into his mouth and made contact with his tongue. He closed his lips around her finger, suckling gently, his tongue eagerly licking away her juices.

She withdrew her finger, and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his lips.

“Please, Sango,” he said softly. “More.”

Smiling, she slipped her index and middle finger between her folds, dipping briefly into her entrance, and ran them up the length of her wet flesh. She extended her hand to him again, two fingers thickly coated with her cream, which he obediently licked clean.

He looked at her, a mix of desperation and determination, and swallowed.

“ _More_.”

She wondered if she could just keep doing this, working herself up and making him taste her off her fingers. How long would he obediently sit there, drinking the juices that his very gaze somehow forced her body to produce?

She would never know, of course, because already she had grasped a handful of hair at the back of his head and drawn him close. Bracing herself against the desk with her left hand, she used her right hand, tightly gripping his scalp, to guide him to her inner thigh, where he took the initiative to pepper her flesh with wet kisses as she slowly directed him closer and closer to her core.

Heat enveloped her. He strained against her, trying to get closer, and bit by bit she acceded, bringing his mouth to the source of the wetness coating her thighs.

His breathing quickened as she held him between her legs, inches from her sex. He was no longer looking at her face; this bit of heated flesh commanded his full attention. She held him there, his breath warm on her.

“Miroku,” she said. “Lick me.”

He obliged, and she let out a throaty growl as his tongue slipped between her folds and languidly traveled upward. She shook as he flicked his tongue against her clit.

She very nearly lost herself, her grip on his hair relaxing, as his tongue began to work her. But with steely resolve, she pushed him away.

“Sango?”

She could’ve let him do as he would to her, and surrendered to his attentions, but that would mean giving him control, and that was not what she wanted. Not this time.

She extended a leg, and with her foot on his chest, made him lie on his back. Straddling him, on all fours, she crawled up his body, until she knelt on his chest, her knees pinning his arms to the floor.

He was breathing heavily now. Realizing what she meant to do. Helpless to stop her from doing something terribly obscene. Something he wanted just as much as she did.

“Miroku,” she said. “You are not in charge.”

“Sango …”

“Sango- _sama_ ,” she said.

His eyes widened.

“Yes, Sango-sama.”

“I will do whatever I want to you,” she said.

“Yes, Sango-sama.”

“You will do as I say, and serve me.”

“Yes, Sango-sama.”

“Good. Now look at me.”

He glanced up at her face.

“No. _Look at me_.”

She gripped his hair, tilting his face toward her sex.

“Are you looking, Miroku?”

“Yes, Sango-sama.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“Sango ….sama… I see you - your beauty. The most beautiful, most glorious part of your body.”

“Good,” she said. “Now eat it.”

She lowered herself atop him, taking care not to put too much weight on his face, and adjusting the angle so as not to hurt him. His nose was but a quarter-inch from her mound, and his rapid and forceful breath tickled the hair of her pubis. He had no choice but to breathe in her essence, the scent of her womanhood must surely be filling his lungs.

But already he was at work. It was kissing, in a way, as the lips of his mouth and the lips of her vulva came together, and in the void between Houshi-sama began to exchange his saliva for her wetness. His tongue separated her folds, and teased the entrance of her vagina. But that was merely him surveying her contours. He knew his duty, and that was to seek out her clit and assault it mercilessly with his tongue. And this indeed he did, sucking clit and labia into his mouth, jabbing at her special spots with his tongue, and oh-so-carefully nibbling with his teeth.

On an average day, his skill in this department was enough to finish her within five minutes or so, depending on her mood, their foreplay, and whether he meant to get her off quickly or just tease her. But she was far too wired to last even that long, and mounting his face like this clearly gave Miroku a particular sense of urgency – the fact he was so into this couldn't change the discomfort of her resting most of her weight on his arms and head. And atop his work with his mouth, his arms were just free enough that he could reach around her legs and clasp her buttocks with her hands, squeezing the flesh and gently guiding her hips. With this prompting she leaned forward, placed her hands on the floor before her for balance, and arranged herself into the best possible angle for her husband to thoroughly tongue-fuck her.

To endure something like this was a simply impossible task. She lasted for perhaps two minutes. Incoherent, guttural moans escaped her. She rolled her hips on Miroku's face. She shuddered and came.

She leaned forward and collapsed on the floor, her right hip on Miroku's right shoulder and her leg splayed across his chest. It would have been terribly rude for her to simply let the weakness take her as she straddled him – how unkind would it have been to let her entire weight be borne by Miroku's face.

Still, one benefit of all this was that he was short of breath, and simply lay idle, sucking in sweet oxygen, and allowing her time to recover. The warmth that filled her, and the feeling that she should cuddle her husband, was dashed to pieces by the resolve to follow the plan she had since she came here. Yes, she was satisfied, but not _satisfied_. He had passed the test, as she knew he would. But there was one more thing she needed from him.

She glanced around the room. The roof post just behind him looked sturdy enough. And the sash of her _kosode_ was just beside her. Yes. That would do nicely.

She moved quickly, straddling him. His hands went immediately to her breasts, and she allowed him to grope her, for a moment or two, before she brought the sash out from behind her back. His eyes widened as she wrapped the thin red-and-white strip of cloth around his wrists, but he made no move to stop her, not even when she pushed his bound wrists over his head and wrapped the long end of the sash around the pole behind him. She leaned back, checking her work. He lay on the floor, on his back, his wrists bound together, over his head, and tied to the wooden column just behind him. His face regarded her with a mix of pleasure and an appropriate level of fear. She thought to blindfold him as well, but no, she wanted him to see exactly what she was doing. She smiled. She could do anything she wanted to him now.

She scooted down his body, straddling his thighs, placing her hands on his chest.

“You,” she said, “are wearing far too many clothes.”

Her fingers made quick work of his outer robes, divesting him of the purple _kesa_ and heavy black _koromo_ , the latter of which, still wrapped around his arms, she pushed up behind him to make a pillow for his head. This was important, she decided, as she intended to do things that would otherwise greatly injure him by slamming his head onto the hard wooden floor.

She growled with frustration at the knots of his _hadagi_ undershirt, as he had made them too tight, but she loosened them and pull this garment aside as well. His face threatened to blush. He was naked now, all but for a loincloth. He could no longer conceal his arousal for her, as his member strained desperately against the soft linen, and jerked when she brushed this part of him with the back of her hand.

Leaning back, she drank him in. It could not be overstated how much she not merely loved him, but lusted him, how much she desired his body, and how greatly she enjoyed seeing and touching every part of his physique. The beauty of his face, the strength of his arms and legs, the contour of his chest and abdomen – all these things that she loved about him, and desired so deeply. She placed her hands on his chest, tracing along the lines of his muscles, feeling his heartbeat, and the pattern of his breath.

She brought her lips to his navel, and trailed slow kisses upward. Hovering over his mouth, she let him breathe her breath a moment, before gripping his face and pressing her lips to his. Her fingers tightened in his hair, gently angling him this way and that as she probed his mouth with her tongue. She teased him, goading him to kiss her more aggressively, and when he did so, pulling back.

Her mouth moved to the side of his neck, licking the sweat of his skin, making him groan, and she made her way to his shoulder, and down his chest. He grimaced as she encircled a nipple with her tongue. She rarely got to do this, and took her time working one nipple and then the other, licking and nipping gently.

She was pleased by his obedience, and his restraint; he said nothing, not a word of protest, as she teased him and touched him everywhere except the place he wanted her to touch the most. She was glad for this; if she had to gag him, she would miss all the lovely little sounds she was about to produce from him.

A few minutes of this torture was enough, she decided. His breath hitched as she worked the knot securing his loincloth. This too he had secured too tightly; she must complain about this to him later. Hooking her fingers under the thin material at his hip, she pulled sharply.

He gasped at this, the sudden act of violence so close to his most sensitive place, the sound of cloth tearing, and the instant disappearance of the fabric which restrained him.

She leaned over him, gripping his shoulder with one hand to balance, and with the other, stroked his thigh. Moving upwards, slowly, making his breath catch. She cupped his balls, warm and heavy, gently stroking small circles over them with her fingers, and moved upward, placing her hand on the underside of his erection. Wrapping her hand around him, finding him thick and hard, she began to pump him, making him groan and writhe beneath her. His breathing quickened, and she kissed him, so that he gasped and groaned into her open mouth.

She had worked him up well, it seemed - his hips were already twitching. She could work him just a little faster, and a little harder, and he would find his release very soon. But this would end her fun too early; she could not allow him to climax when she had only just begun to enjoy his cock.

She stilled her hand for a moment, letting him catch his breath, letting him direct his full attention to what she was going to do next. His eyes remained fixed upon her as she slid down his body.

“ _Houshi-sama_ ,” she said, and her breathy tone and sincere, joyful expression as she studied his erection seemed to please him greatly.

She brushed fingertips over his length, smiling, and then took him into her mouth.

God, she loved the way he moaned when she did this.

He had a particular taste, something she once found strange, and which she eventually found oddly desirable. But perhaps it was his texture that she enjoyed most of all. This strange rigidity surrounded by pliant flesh. The ripple of his foreskin and the heat of his glans.

She murmured in satisfaction as his hips began to roll beneath her. He strained against her sash, attempting to reach her, but with his hands bound he could not twist his fingers into her hair and guide her pace. She lay her body atop him, pinning his calves with her legs, pressing her breasts to his thighs, and splaying her hands over his hips. With all her weight on his lower body, he could not heed the urge to thrust into her mouth.

Bobbing up and down, she alternately sucked hard, and then relaxed her mouth, letting her saliva spill from between her lips and dribble down to the base of his shaft. Over and over she did this, making him breathe in quick, sharp bursts.

Once she was certain his member was fully coated with her spit, she angled her mouth and paused a moment, breathing, preparing herself. She wanted to see the expression on his face when she did this, but that was not possible, as she needed to concentrate. Resolving herself, knowing she could probably only do this the once, and only for a few seconds, she allowed her lips to descend his length, inch by inch. Taking him in, all of him, her body tensing as she carefully, oh so carefully, guided his cock into her throat.

His otherworldly howl was a fair reward, but even so, she drew away, gasping, coughing. He would surely have gripped her shoulders reassuringly if his hands were free.

“Sango,” he said. “I’m sorry, are you all right?”

She smiled, wiped her mouth.

“You didn’t do anything, Miroku. I just wanted to try something. How did that feel?”

“Extraordinary, for a moment, and then terrible, when I see how uncomfortable you are. Please don’t do it again.”

She nodded

“For today, at least, I can promise you that,” she said. “But I fear I’ve distracted you.”

She took his length in his hand, extremely wet and slippery now, and began to pump him hard, and fast. The tickle in her throat subsided, and she began to encircle the tip of his cock with her tongue as she continued to stroke him.

“S-sango!” he gasped. A warning that he was getting close.

She glared at him, and ceased her stroking.

“Sango...sama,” he added. He grimaced; her denial of his release was beginning to become too much for him.

She nodded.

“Soon. But not yet,” she said.

Careful now, a soft touch and occasional licks on his cock, keeping him right at the edge. She badly needed this part of him inside her, and she knew for certain he would not complain if she should climb atop him, impale herself upon him, and roll her hips until he achieved release. But that will be some other time. For now, there was only the desperate look in his eyes, his heavy breathing. He was so completely helpless when she had him like this.

She gripped him firmly and trailed kisses to the base of his shaft, warming his scrotum with her breath before licking him, feeling the flesh twitch and jump.

“Sango-sama…”

Teasing him, guided by the exquisite sounds he made, she held his shaft tight in one hand, and proceeded to fully explore his sack with her tongue. He tried to move, to thrust against her fist, desperate for friction on his cock, but she held him still, continuing to build him up until she was certain he could hold back no more.

“Please, Sango-sama … let … let me cum …”

“Mmm. That’s more like it. Do you understand now, Miroku? This cock _belongs_ to me. I _own_ it. I will do whatever I want to it, and when I decide it’s time for you to cum, you will do so in whatever way pleases me most.”

“Y-yes,” he gasped. “Sango-sama…”

“Good. Now beg me, Miroku. Beg me to let you cum.”

“Sango-sama,” he groaned. His body strained against her. “Please. I’m begging you. Your mouth…”

“My mouth? Is that where you would like to finish, Miroku?”

“Yes, Sango-sama. Please… I need … I need to cum … ah …”

She brought her lips to the tip of his cock, making it twitch with her breath. He let out a low whimper.

“Is that truly what you want, Miroku?”

“Please. I’m begging you. Sango-sama. I … I would do anything … just … just let me have my release …”

She tightened her grip on him. Felt the muscles of his thighs rapidly tense and relax. Watched his abs tighten. He was fighting, very hard, and losing. She found this extraordinarily enjoyable.

“Then tell me, Miroku. This thick cock. It belongs to me, yes?”

“Yes! Yes, Sango-sama.”

“And your seed, Miroku? The seed that you are aching to release. Is that mine as well?”

“Y-yes…. god yes … please …”

She licked the head of his cock. He cried out, tears in his eyes. He could hold back no more.

“Then produce it, Miroku. Cum for me.”

He shook beneath her, utterly destroyed, as she wrapped her lips around his shaft.

His hips spasmed, mindlessly thrusting against the wet warmth that provoked his orgasm, but her weight was upon his thighs and her left forearm was braced against his pelvis. She had proven her mastery of his body, her absolute control of his sexual pleasure, and she had kept him to the edge long enough that she knew his release would be forceful and lengthy. She would settle for nothing less.

“Oh, god,” he gasped. “Oh, god, oh god…”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured. Looking up at him, studying his face, teeth clenched, eyes bleary, sweat beading on his forehead.

“S-sango, I-”

She pumped his shaft with her hand, finally granting him the friction he so desperately needed to complete his release. He throbbed in her mouth, making the most lovely, helpless whimper as she felt his scrotum tighten under her fingers, his balls warm and heavy with seed they were now ready to surrender. He writhed beneath her, muscles straining, riding out his orgasm, sobbing in pleasure with each burst of warm, bitter liquid.

She moaned, low and loud, and fixed her eyes upon him.  She was very glad she did not blindfold him.  He could have laid back, with his eyes closed, letting this moment wash over him.  But he watched her, and saw what she was doing to him, and what he was doing to her.

_ Yes, Miroku.  Look at me.  Look at how much I enjoy this.  How good I am at this.  Could you ever have imagined, Miroku, that this demon huntress you fell for would someday suck your cock so well?  Look at how perfectly you fit in my mouth.  Look at how satisfied I am, to taste your pleasure.  Shall I swallow as soon as you give it to me, Miroku?  Or shall I keep it in my mouth, and let you feel my saliva become thick with your seed?   _

_ Look at me, Miroku.  Too often you've put your pleasure aside to ensure mine.  But not now.  This moment is all about you, only you.  In this moment, I worship you, Miroku.  I worship your cock.  It is hard and thick and warm and pulsing in my mouth.  Your cum is hot and bitter and musky and I receive it as proof of my success.  As my benediction. _

_ Look at me, Miroku.  Look at what you have done to me.  Look at this Taijiya warrior you married, the mother of your children, on her hands and knees before you, with her lips tight around your throbbing erection, staring you down as you ejaculate.  Look at me as I encircle your swollen cockhead with my tongue, and lave the delicate little slit at the tip, the source of the sticky fluid that fills my mouth in quick, sharp bursts.  Look at me as I accept your release. Can you see how much it pleases me, Miroku, to see the helpless ecstasy on your face right now?  Look at me, Miroku.   Look at how thirsty I am, how greedy I am, for your cream. _

Once certain that his orgasm was complete, and he could produce no more, she slowed her movements, and held the thick, gritty liquid in her mouth a moment.

“Sango .. . s-sorry, I… ” he groaned, looking down at her.

Her performance was complete, but given the mood, she could not resist a brief encore.

“Mmmmm,” she growled.

Loudly, dramatically, she swallowed. Locked eyes on him, making sure he watched as she drank him, the essence of him, heavy in her mouth, in her throat.

His look of utter shock made this gesture quite worthwhile.

Without breaking eye contact she drew away, letting his cock slip out of her mouth with a wet plop, staring him down as she licked her lips.

“ _Houshi-sama_ ,” she said. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

“Ah, god,” he said.

She stretched out and lay her naked body against his, and untied his wrists. He wrapped his arms around her, brought his lips to hers, kissed her deeply, heedless of the taste of him that lingered on her tongue.

“Hmm. You are an absolutely terrible influence, Miroku. I was a perfectly modest woman once, you know.”

She smiled, leaning forward, breathing deeply into his ear.

“How terrible of you to take a warrior maiden, shield-bearer of the _youkai taijiya_ , and make her so wanton. Have you no shame, Miroku?”

He stroked fingers up her spine.

“That seems unfair,” he said. “After all, I can't recall you ever being a woman of weak will.”

“Perhaps you unleashed something within me, then. Something quite demanding.”

“And what do you demand now, my Sango?”

“What I always demand, of course,” she said. “Everything.”

His hand slipped between them, between her legs, found her wet, and made her groan.

He grinned upon realizing she was still ready for him. It seems he was not quite finished after all.

“That,” he said, “I can most certainly deliver.”

END

 _Is it worth it?_  
_Let me work it._  
_-Missy Elliott_


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